


When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth

by spacemonkey



Category: U2 (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: Bono takes Edge out to celebrate an important birthday. Set in 1994.





	When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Can we just all pretend that I'm not here, posting fic when I'm so far behind on homework I could drown right now? Thanks, nothing to see here, move along people! Okay, but I had a horrible day at work, you know the type where you come home and cry, and needed some serious happy so I slammed this out in one quick sitting, and now I feel much better! Don't ask where the idea came from, I'm still not entirely sure, but here we are, and...yeah, enjoy? Also, I reference two quotes that I'm not entirely sure were translated or in a book or anything in 1994, but this is fiction and they worked best therefore here we are again. As far as the title goes...oh, I don't know, shh, I was never here xxx

It’s hard to be certain, but Edge has a feeling that tonight is going to be one of those nights. Or rather, he hopes like hell that it will be.

Of course, he won’t know for sure until the penny drops. A lingering look, that calculated smile. Isn’t that how this always starts? Not once has he ever thought of consulting a mirror when it’s him in the driver’s seat, so to speak, but he still has an inkling of how he must look, if Bono’s reaction is anything to go by. Yet he has seen those two indicators being thrown his way so many times—but never quite enough—to nonetheless be on an intimately familiar basis.

The months have slipped by. The years. How long has it been? They were teenagers thirty seconds ago, they were men when dinosaurs ruled the earth. “If I had to choose,” Bono had said during their most recent philosophical discussion, “I think I would be a Brontosaurus. Imagine being that tall! God, imagine being even average.”

“You’ve never been below average at anything in your life.”

“Why, Edge, is that flattery I hear?”

“You tell me.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were after something.”

“We’re just talking about dinosaurs here, Bono.”

And that’s all it had amounted to, that time. But tonight is looking to be far more promising. After all, their rendezvous started with cake and a warm hug. In theory, that’s all Edge really needs to make his birthday agreeable, though secretly he is hoping for something a little more earth-shattering. Not quite on the scale of an asteroid, but close enough.

Creedence is shut off with the quick stab of one impatient finger, and barely a second of silence passes between them before Bono again starts up like the goddamn Energizer Bunny that he is. “Thirty-three, huh?” He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “The boy is growing up. It’s an important age to be, mate. Do you know why?”

“I do. It’s been an essential talking point since last May, remember?”

“You know, I think they—and I mean fans and critics alike here—the entire lot of them are all at least a little disappointed when we make it past that age.”

“Only those who they’ve put on some kind of weird pedestal.”

“You don’t think you belong up there?”

“Definitely not.”

“Too bad, I’ve got you high up on one whether you like it or not. But don’t worry,” Bono says with a grin that looks almost devilish beneath the interior lighting, “I would never dream of crucifying you.”

“That’s always what a man wants to hear on his birthday.”

“I do have a present in mind, by the way.”

“Is it a cross large enough for me to comfortably stretch out on?”

“Don’t be so fucking absurd. Do I look like a man who would stoop so low as to copy one of Gavin’s ideas? No, it’s far more original and only slightly blasphemous. Well, depending on who you ask, that is. Does that pique your interest?”

“I guess so.”

“You _guess_?”

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“Just keep driving. I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Know what?”

And there it is: that look, that smile. “The prime location.”

Dublin is at least twenty minutes in the past, and while Edge can think of a few potential places for them to spend a night in this area, he has doubts about whether any of them are also on Bono’s mind.

“Bono.” It’s meant to be a warning, an _are you out of your mind?_ broken down into two syllables. Instead, it comes out sounding more like a proposition.

“Yes, Edge?”

There’s nothing that Edge can really think to say. He can barely bring himself to glance over and see that smile. How long has it been? Too damn long. Even one look may force him to slam his foot on the brake right then and there, the other cars on the road be damned. The Irish press can also be damned while he’s at it, because naturally they will get involved in no time, if given the chance.

_Ah, well I was jus’ driving home when I nearly ran up the arse of this car_ , would be the leading quote in newspapers across the world, _and when I went an’ had a gander inside to see the happenings, there they were, them preachy wankers, going at it! And it was a surprise, let me tell you. I thought they were friends, nothin’ more!_

_It's complicated_ , would be their collective response in maybe a weeks’ time, after their friends and family had processed the news and the shitstorm belting down upon them had turned into a lighter rain. _Look, sometimes it just happens, alright?_

“There!” The very same finger that shut John Fogerty up is again being used as an assault weapon, this time flying through the air in front of Edge’s face at an alarming speed. “See that driveway?”

Edge does. And while he’s almost certain that there’s life at the end of it, he’s not going to risk speeding past the turnoff and having to deal with the attitude that he knows will come from the seat next to him. Still, he does voice his concern once he’s made the turn and they’re slowly bumping along a narrow, long and ominous dirt road. “So, you figure we celebrate my birthday by popping into some stranger’s farmhouse for a nightcap?”

“What do you take me for, Edge?”

“Oh . . . so many things, B.”

“This farmhouse has been empty for months. No one will buy it, you know. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“There are stories?”

“I actually considered splashing out on it myself. Real nice place, lots of potential. It’s got this big yard and plenty of land for various animals, if that’s what you’re after. But security was an issue. And depending on who you believe, it’s either haunted, or riddled with termites, or both . . . among other things. Which is lucky for us tonight, as it turns out.” A warm palm lands against Edge’s knee for a sneaky squeeze, the pause lasting only as long as it takes Bono to seek out the reaction he’s after. “I did a drive-by yesterday, just to make sure no poor soul had snapped it up.”

“So this is how you’re passing your spare time? By casing out a joint like a criminal might?”

“I’ve also read an exorbitant amount of poetry.”

“Is that so?”

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,” Bono says in a low voice as the car comes to a halt, tacking on a sly, “Pablo Neruda,” only when Edge gives in and glances over.

“Is that my birthday present? You quoting Neruda at me?”

“You should be so lucky. He’s one of the greats.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Do you want to hear another line?”

“Please.”

“You occupy everything,” Bono murmurs, his half-shrug apologizing for the simplicity of the quote, his smile saying _when we’re alone, it’s the truth._ “You occupy everything.”

Edge nods in response, clearing his throat as he tears his eyes away to look this way and that. “It’s nice out here.”

“Right. I can’t see a fucking thing out my window, it’s that dark, and yet you’ve managed to come to that conclusion?”

“I couldn’t care less about what’s going on outside of the car, Bono,” Edge says, turning back with what he can only assume is a calculating smile.

The reaction comes at near-lightspeed, a hand finding his belt, practiced fingers working together to reach their chosen goal. Somewhere along the way, Bono became incredibly good at this. Not just the starting point—the unbuckling and unzipping—but the end, the middle and everything that falls in between.

It’s a skill that only comes after a lot of practice, and yet they still have never once really tried to put a label on whatever _this_ is. A curiosity that turned into a compulsion, a need. The _nudge nudge wink wink say no more_ situation that is their life when they’re alone, yet only when the stars are aligned, the mood is right, and they’re both bursting at the seams. And every day since that very first fumble, it’s proven to be both a goddamn mystery and one of the few things that make any sense in Edge’s life, a conundrum that leaves him wanting to ask a question or two during times like this.

“Don’t start,” Bono says when Edge opens his mouth. “I didn’t drive all the way out here to have a heart to heart.”

“You didn’t drive at all.”

“You know what I mean.”

“All I was going to ask was if this was my present,” Edge lies, gesturing down to Bono’s hand in his lap.

“Why? Did you have something else in mind?”

There’s only one true way that Edge can think to respond, though he doesn’t linger for _that_ long. Thirty seconds, maybe five minutes, who could really know for sure? It’s just one small kiss that turns into another, that goes from sweet to something with a little more bite. What is this? Sometimes, the answer seems crystal clear.

_It’s us_ , he imagines them concluding out loud at the same damn time, even if he knows that the complications of life require a far more concrete explanation than that which only the two of them could ever truly understand. _It’s simply who we are supposed to be_.

Bono looks to be of two minds when they part, stimulated yet slightly put out by the interruption. He has a plan, it seems, and how _dare_ Edge deviate in the same predictable way that he always does?

“Backseat?” Edge hopefully suggests, even as Bono ducks into his lap, pushing away denim and cotton for better access.

“No, this is happening right here.”

“That’ll work too.”

“But try and keep an eye out, would you? I mean, if you’re able,” Bono says with a grin, his cheek like sandpaper against Edge’s exposed stomach. “You never know what sort of perverts you might find hanging around a place like this.”


End file.
